


The Illusion of It

by lankyguy



Series: A Barbarous Age [1]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8539135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lankyguy/pseuds/lankyguy
Summary: Summary: Will Scarlett is returning from the Holy Land.A continuation of the storyline from "Wither Thou Goest."post- RH s02e13 "We Are Robin Hood!" post- “Heroes & Villains: Richard the Lionheart”Special thanks to LJ user ladywillin.





	

Roger Godberd walked to the rail of the ship to stand next to Will Scarlett. They watched the coast of England slide quickly by. After some moments Will finally noticed Roger.

“We should’ve pulled into Dover,” Roger said.

“Too many eyes, watching the docks, a smaller port is better.” Will disagreed, they had this discussion before. Roger was anxious, and excitable, always ready to fight.

“I don’t trust the crew,” Roger complained.

“Me either, but we’ve little choice.” Will glanced around the deck. The ship bustled with activity. She was old and well-worn, and the lower decks smelled of piss and rotted food, but the Captain was loyal to Richard, or at least to money. He had agreed to let them off where Will instructed. “Try to bear the privation, as best you can.”

Roger was tall, with firm muscles and a spry frame. Sporting a scraggly patchy beard from their weeks traveling, he could easily have passed for Will’s older brother, even with the sandy hair. It was one of the reasons King Richard had chosen him, that, his fierce loyalty and keen mind.

Will liked him enormously, but when Roger was bored his fussiness came out. Grating at times, the habit also pleasantly reminded Will of Much.

“Would you shave please?” Will deliberately changed the subject, admonishing him, with a smile.

“You don’t like my beard?”

“It’s awful. You know, you may be the only person less capable of growing a decent beard than me.”

“I don’t ask you to shave yours,” Roger protested.

“Because you can barely see it. Took me two weeks to grow this,” Will said, rubbing the random wild hairs on his chin proudly.

“Well, I can’t go around disappointing the King’s man,” Roger laughed loud, clapping Will on the shoulder.

“Don’t say that,” Will demurred, his head bowing in shame or humility, Roger could not tell.

“But you are, Master Will.”

“I am nothing.” A cloud passed behind Will’s eyes.

“Not by birth, but you are the King’s man, and no mistake.” 

“Aye,” came Fulke’s soft firm voice, “You’re Richard’s man, and we’re your men. We’ll follow your lead, lad.” He walked up to stand beside Will at the rail. Fulke FitzWarin had been a good friend of Lucas de Braose’s. He had taken longer than anyone to accept Will, but accept him he had.

Fulke held the distinction of being one of Prince John’s personal enemies. They had fallen out in childhood, and Fulke left England, to escape John’s wrath. He eventually followed Richard to the Holy Land. Now, older and a bit wiser Fulke looked for a measure of revenge.

“I’m only getting us as far as Sherwood,” Will said. Who am I? He thought to himself. A poor carpenter’s son. “We’ll join up with Robin, it’s for him to lead us, he will know what to do.” 

“As you say,” Roger lowered his voice to a whisper, eyeing the deck to avoid eavesdroppers. “You are a Knight now, William of Loxley, you command men. Every one of us answers to you, whatever you choose. Have no doubt about that.” 

Roger’s orders were to follow Will Scarlett, if that also meant following Robin, former Earl of Huntingdon, he would do as instructed, but Will was in charge as far as he was concerned. More, Will was their charge. It was Roger and Fulke’s sworn duty to protect the lad.

The very apparent devotion in both Roger and Fulke, embarrassed Will. He quickly tried to turn his thoughts from it.

Fulke was shorter than Roger, nearer Will’s height, with a broad frame. Well-formed, with large hands, he had a forest of dark wool on his chest that captivated Will. It made the former outlaw think he might like to get lost there, very much. He had always been at home in the forest. The thought caused Will to chuckle.

Fulke watched Will smile to himself, and grinned in return. It was good to see the young man happy. Such moments had been all too brief in the weeks since they left the Holy Land and King Richard’s Army.

I wish, someone was here who was used to leading men; Robin, or Carter, or Richard, Will thought sullenly. 

Richard, the name flared bright in his mind. Strange that he now thought of him by his given name and did not preference it with the honorific any longer. Well, at least not every time. He corrected himself.

His mind drifted back to that last night in camp outside Jerusalem.

Will had known something was up for weeks. There had been odd movements, odd goings on in the camp. Something was up, and he did not know what it was. People thought that was odd as well.

Thomas of Kent, and Armand de Bourbon had both commented on it. How could one so close to the King not know everything?

He assured them that he provided comfort for the King, and only occasional counsel. Richard had men well-versed in the arts of war to advise him, and rarely needed the voice of a carpenter’s son.

Thomas thought Will was too humble, while Armand, as ever, assumed he was being evasive. Both were correct in their turn.

He was stumbling back to his tent that last night, his head full of more wine than he normally imbibed. A knight, King Richard had made Will Scarlett a Knight!

He snickered at the thought as he tottered along and hiccuped. Still he was sorely disappointed the King had not stayed for the festivities. The King was a complicated man, and that tested Will’s elevated sense of social justice every day.

The King had come to terms with Saladin, finally, and just as it looked like they might be headed home, they were suddenly gearing up to move into battle again. Where to was the question and the gossip in camp.

Rounding the last row, he headed toward his billet. A strong arm suddenly slipped about his waist, as the other reached up to cup a hand over his mouth. The powerful arms yanked him backwards between the tents. Will struggled to free his mouth if he could shout for help, the entire camp would wake. Richard’s tent was only feet away.

Richard. Will went slack in the arms holding him fast, he knew these arms, he knew this grip. He let himself get pulled backwards, and into his very own tent.

Inside it was almost black. The only light came from a single honeyed candle, near to burning out. Will’s captor all but threw him on his bed. Hands, rough from sword fights and bridles, pulled off his tunic and yanked down his leggings to his knees.

In the dim light he could see enough to know the man was already naked. It made him chuckle.

“You really shouldn’t run about the camp like that.”

“It’s my camp. I can do what I want.” Richard said and climbed on top of him. “You should have been better prepared, what if I’d been an assassin?”

“I knew it was you.”

Straddling Will’s waist, Richard grasped the rangy lad’s hands, pushing them back over his head, holding him captive. Richard smothered Will’s mouth with kisses, making the younger man’s head swim in the oppressive heat of the tent.

Richard’s mouth made its way down Will’s body causing him to gasp and moan at each turn.

“Still ticklish,” Richard grinned in the dark. “Look at you, I’ve tried so hard to fatten you up, and still you’re a thin, wisp of a boy.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologize, I love it. You’re stunning. I just worry that you’re fragile, that I might hurt you.”

“I’m stronger than you think.”

“Sir Will, you are stronger even than you know.” Richard began to nibble at the root of Will’s cock. The younger man bucked, his hands reaching for Richard’s broad round shoulders.

Will tried to sit up, to pull the King up, to do something, anything, but it was useless. Richard forced him back, time and again.

The King straddled Will again, and reaching behind him, he grasped and began to stroke the treasure between Will’s legs.

“Sire, what are you...?”

“None of that now.” Richard reached for the olive oil he’d placed by Will’s bed side. With an oiled hand he resumed stroking Will’s member. “It’s just us tonight, right now, Richard and Will.”

The King lifted up off Will Scarlett’s waist, carefully aligning everything, he pushed himself down, impaling himself on the younger man’s cock.

He gasped and groaned and rocked back and forth, as Will lay in stunned silence.

Noble men did not do this; Kings did not do this. A Noble could fornicate with anything but they never let themselves be... Will gasped in surprise. Richard was bringing him to the edge quickly, it was all too much. Breathing raggedly, Richard was also quickly nearing the cliff. Bending over, Richard’s mouth found Will’s and they fell off together,

After long moments, their lips parted and Richard rolled off panting. A finger traced lines on Will’s pale skin. He collected his seed on his finger and fed it to Will. They kissed and he tasted himself on the younger man’s tongue.

In the pale glow of the candle Richard ran his hands along Will’s body, exploring every crack and crevice.

“What are you doing?’ Will asked, with the uncomfortable feeling he was being inspected.

“I want to remember everything about you.” Richard kissed a trail to Will’s taut, flat belly.

“Is that why you - did what you did?”

“I want a piece of you to take with me,” Richard said.

“Take with you? Where am I going?”

“It’s time you went home,” Richard said, the tone in his voice was firm. It was clear the decision was made. He got out of bed and moved to a chair.

“What will you have me do?”

“Always ready for action aren’t you?” Richard chuckled. “Good. My brother John, and King Philip of France, are moving against me.”

“This is the same Philip that you had an affair with?” Will pulled up a chair and sat opposite Richard.

“You’ve heard that, have you?” Richard pulled him closer. Will draped a leg over the tree trunk legs of the King.

“You’re the King, word gets around.”

“Well, let me just say that ex-lovers can be trying, especially when you’re betrothed to their sister.” Richard snorted, absently stroking the down on Will’s legs.

“Your world is very complicated,” Will agreed. He used his big toe to nudge Richard’s flaccid cock. Richard batted the foot away.

“That’s another reason I want you back in the forest,” Richard frowned. “I don’t want you caught up in my personal politics.”

All of Europe is caught up in your personal politics, Will thought, but he did not protest. The tightness in Richard’s voice told him this was not a decision easily or lightly made. Instead, he gently stroked the ginger hair on the King’s arms.

“You are taking Roger and Fulke with you. I need you to gather as much support among the populace for me as you can. Start with your own people; the Saxons have never cared for John.”

Will was pulling his lips inside his mouth, and biting down. It was an odd habit of his that had only started lately. He did it only when he was mulling something over in his mind, Richard noticed.

“I should get to Sherwood, get the outlaws involved. Robin will know what to do.”

“Proceed however you choose, it’s the people I need and I trust you to know what to do, and when to do it,” Richard said.

Will raised an eyebrow.

“You are in charge. Roger and Fulke are good men, but you know the people in ways that they cannot.”

“Because I’m a peasant, you mean.” Will smirked.

“Yes. You know your Norman’s quite good now,” Richard said. “We’ve been going between Norman and English quite fluidly here, did you notice?”

“No, I hadn’t.” Will was surprised.

“You’ll need that. You’ll need to move in both worlds in England.” 

“Why did you make me a Knight if you need me as an outlaw?” Will asked, confused.

“It keeps there from being any question with Roger and Fulke, as to your status,” Richard said thoughtfully. “They are good men, but I could hardly put a peasant carpenter in charge of two landed nobles, even with your ‘forest warrior’ legend. Rank must be preserved, or at least the illusion of it. This way, no one is honor bound to challenge you.”

“It’s a good point.”

“When you get to England I’ve arranged for you to take on the identity of the son of a Saxon noble. He’s a good man, and fiercely loyal to me. In this way you’ll be able to both move among the Nobility when you need to, and abandon it to return to the forest, and the people, when you will.’

“Me, pretend to be a noble? The son of a real Saxon noble? There aren’t many left, why would this man agree to it?”

“He gains access to me and acceptance for his house at court. He will also get you as a son, he has no heir. His son died on the voyage here.”

“But if he has no true heir, then his line dies with him,” Will protested.

“His line will continue, you’ll marry his niece,” Richard said looking up at Will from under heavy brows.

“Wait, you married me off?” Will sat up, abruptly dumping Richard’s legs off the chair. Richard knew the pained look on Will’s face very well by now, he was thinking of his Saracen lover Djaq.

“Will, as one of my Knights, as my man, it is your responsibility to me, and England, to be fruitful and multiply.” Richard was smiling at his own cleverness.

“I all ways thought, that we would, you know, one day - be - together.”

“I’m the King, the time here may be all that we’ll ever have, but I want you to make me beautiful children, so I can have the pleasure of spoiling them.”

Will froze at the soft, tender words from a King he knew could be capricious, cruel and kind when necessary. I love him, Will thought.

“When do I leave?” Will asked.

“In two hours. When I walk out of your tent, men will go and quietly rouse Roger, Fulke, and several others.”

“So soon?”

“So John’s spies will not notice you’re leaving. They’ll be too preoccupied reporting my attacks on Egypt to notice a few men gone.” 

Will was jolted back to the here and now, by something on the edge of his periphery. A ragged sailor moved purposefully toward him with a dagger.

Will Scarlett quickly realized he was alone; Roger and Fulke had moved away in conversation. It was one of the few times, either had left him alone, so of course a spy was making his move.

The sailor moved closer, ready to pounce. Will gave no indication he saw the man. Fulke abruptly made a shout of surprise, seeing the raised dagger. Damn, it! Will thought, and with one swift move he pulled the short axe from the strap on his back and hacked at the sailor. The axe struck the man dead center in the chest, a look of pained surprise frozen on his face.

Stepping past the man, Will pulled a dagger from his boot and threw it in one move. The dagger struck a second assassin moving on Roger, square in eye. The man screamed and fell to the deck.

“Good God, you’re quick.” Roger started, still in the middle of getting his sword out of its scabbard.

“I’ve had practice,” Will said, turning back to the first man, still staggering forward. Pulling his axe from the man’s chest, Will pushed him forward and over the rail. The crew man quickly disappeared beneath the choppy waters.

Will ran to the man writhing on the deck, grabbed him by the foot, and drug him to the rail. Pulling his dagger from the man’s face, Will lifted him up and rolled him over the rail and into the Channel.

“Now, we won’t know who sent them.” Fulke frowned.

“Our enemies,” Will said stonily. Fulke and Roger froze, looking at each other. They had seen that demeanor in battle and it always chilled them. Will Scarlett might look like a flittering little bird at times, but he was also a deadly killer. The change from one to another was as stark as it was clear. The light behind the green eyes could chill your soul.

Standing in mid deck, bloody axe extended at arms length, Will turned surveying everyone.

“Anyone else?” He demanded. No one spoke. “Check the men below decks.” Will told Roger. He wiped his dagger off and replaced in its hiding place. The axe he kept in his hand.

“In the Holy Land we called him ‘La mort pâle’; Pale Death,” Fulke said to a nearby sailor. “Of course, we didn’t do it to his face.” The crew man blanched and quickly moved away.

Will turned back to the rail of the ship. The shoreline continued to slide past, but he barely saw it. Now roused from his topor, his mind was aflame.

The attack brought him back with full force. It reminded him exactly how bad things were in England. In the Holy Land, at war, his life in the forest had seemed so long ago, almost idyllic, but it hadn’t been. They had been at war in Sherwood too.

Marian was dead, his father and mother were dead. People were dying everyday, being starved, beaten, stripped of their dignity and the little they had, all in Prince John’s name. They needed help. 

Will’s jaw set with determination, he remembered Richard’s words again, “...even with your ‘forest warrior’ legend. Rank must be preserved, or at least the illusion of it.” There’s something in that, he thought.

He had left England Will Scarlett, son of Dan, and now returned as Wilfred of Ivanhoe.


End file.
